The Return
by Estoma
Summary: "From the doorway, Persephone glanced at her dark husband. She would not have thought his face was capable of expressing such tenderness as he basked in the thanks of the mortal woman. For a moment their eyes met, and Hades' narrowed with anger before the heavy carved doors swung shut of their own accord." My interpretation of Persephone's last day in the underworld with Hades.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: I've always had a fascination with Greek mythology, it's been years. I've never been interested in writing my own though until this one which was my final writing piece at the end of college. I guess I'm just interested to see what everyone thinks about it. **

The stone floor was cold but Persephone remained where she was, cross legged between two ornate thrones, her eyes fixed on something Hades couldn't see. She was looking through miles of crushing stone to the fields of Sicily. It would be early morning there, she thought, the small wild daisies turning their faces to the first rays of Helios' chariot. By the time the sun set she would be there once more. In the Underworld, time had less meaning. A muscle twitched in her cheek but her eyes stayed on the spot of the wall, between the two tapestries Hades hung for her pleasure. One showed Hera's garden, the tree laden with golden fruit. The other a meadow, at the foot of Mt Olympus, with wood nymphs bathing, and braiding their long dark hair. On one knee Hades waited, his cupped hands filled with rubies as large as grapes. Agamemnon could not have had finer in all his strongholds. They caught the light of the torches, mounted on the walls to make the chamber as bright as day for her. The red gems cast an unnatural light on his jaw line. He waited like a statue with his black eyes on her face, offering the rubies. Their bright colour drew her eye. And then to his hands: so large holding the gems, and so strong on the reins of his black chariot, looking even darker against the little white daisies. His hands had been like a vice too, around her wrist.  
"Why don't you take them?"  
"They're dead."  
The gems cascaded from his outstretched hands as if they were worth no more than grapes, or those pomegranate seeds. Those that fell on the lush rugs, all the way from Persia, past Troy, met the ground without a sound. But those that fell to the exposed stone clattered and bounced in an arc around Persephone's feet. They were bare, as were her pale shoulders. She shivered slightly and her folded hands tightened. Her clothes were suited to the mild sunshine of Sicily and she refused the gowns Hades offered her. On a tall stand, was a black robe, so encrusted in rubies and onyx that it may have stood by itself. Complete with an equally gaudy headdress, it stood spectre like, taller than Persephone. Beside it was a pair of thrones wrought from black marble, one which had never been used. The fanciful design, carved in, suggested a climbing rose but it lacked a blush of pink to bring it to life. The finest work of Hephaestus was a poor comparison to the roses which adorned Persephone's bower in the living world. Her neck was still but she tightened her jaw and did not look at Hades. When he rose, he loomed over her but his hands remained clasped firmly behind his back. He was not the enraged god of lightening, or of blood.  
"You know you may go anywhere, the Underworld is open to you as my wife, even as far as the Styx, but have a care to avoid my audience chamber, you may see things you shouldn't."  
"I am not your wife. I never agreed to this." Even to the god of death, her voice sounded cold.

The river Styx flowed strongly, black waters smooth but with a deep current. Charon pulled at his oars, and it was fortunate shades weighed next to nothing, else the decrepit boat would be sent spinning down the river like a leaf. Persephone stood poised at the very edge, just short of the water. Her toes curled on the black rock and she brought her arms around herself. Across the river, the incline was steep, leading back to the living world. There a few straggly juniper bushes grew, clinging to the crags in the rock. They were the only plants growing in the Underworld, and she was glad to see even them. There were juniper bushes in the meadow she played in, before Hades came after her. She followed the ferryman's shaky progress across the river. He looked as if every stroke might be his last, but he would continue at his task until the Styx dried up and the Underworld was laid bare to the sunshine.  
Though the cavern roof was far above, it seemed closer. The faint light her skin and hair radiated was swallowed quickly by the blackness that characterised the Underworld. She followed the course of the Styx for no reason other than it gave her some purpose, and the sense of movement alleviated her impatience, at least a little. Her stride and her gestures were impatient, and she looked upwards often. The Styx flowed blackly, here it was shallower and chattered over dark stones. Even the moss that grew on them was a dull grey brown. She almost wished for the chamber Hades prepared for her; at least the gaudy tapestries and gems were not grey.  
At the head of the Styx the great bronze wrought gates stood wide open. But it was a mockery. Shades slipped through the gates, some in pale shadowy robes that would have once been heavy with gold thread and others in little more than their skin. They kept to the left and pressed themselves against the wall under the watchful eye of Cerberus. Though the gates stood open, they were shut to shades leaving the Underworld as mercilessly as if they were closed and barred. Cerberus was a worse deterrent than a lock as big as a man's fist. The dog's eyes gathered the light to them and glowed softly like Persephone's own gown. They looked misplaced in the black face. She stopped short of the reach of its chain. The dog growled softly deep in its throat, sounding akin to the muted rumble of the Styx further down where it went over the falls, past Tartarus. In vain, she scanned the gateway for Hermes, but there were only the translucent souls shuffling onwards.

In his audience chamber, Hades called the next petitioner. She was a mortal woman in rough linen, belted only with plaited grass. Dropping to her knees before the god, she held still to the body of an infant. Her hands were speckled with blood from the sacrifice of a black lamb. Hades could feel it on the altar of his temple among the beech trees.  
"What is it you ask, mortal?"  
To her ears, his voice was like stones grinding against each other. Hades knew what she would ask before she formed the words; he would hear the same plea several times a day. Yet her sacrifice gave her the right to say it. With trembling hands, she held the child's body up to him with her head bowed. A stray drop of blood trailed down the inside of her wrist and stopped by her elbow.  
In the doorway to Hades' chamber, Persephone paused at the sobs of a mortal woman. Her hands tightened and her mouth grew hard, and she was ready to confront Hades for his mercilessness. If he would not help the woman, she would. It was time she showed her face as the Queen of the Underworld, with powers over death to equal her husband's. Poised in the doorway, she listened.  
"Thank you, thank you, you are surely more powerful and generous than Zeus himself," the mortal's words were almost incoherent.  
"Have a care how you name the gods," Hades rumbled, but behind his dark beard, he smiled.  
As Persephone watched, Hades swooped down from his black wrought throne to touch the child on the forehead with his sceptre. The woman's arms tightened further around her baby, and she watched the god as if he were going to take away the blessing he had just bestowed. But he had one more to give.  
"For your dedication, your son will have talents the gods envy. Give him a lyre, and none will be able to resist him."  
From the doorway, Persephone glanced at her dark husband. She would not have thought his face were capable of expressing such tenderness as he basked in the thanks of the mortal woman. For a moment their eyes met, and Hades' narrowed with anger before the heavy carved doors swung shut of their own accord.

Hermes added a rare light and colour to the drab underworld as he found his way to the chamber where Persephone waited. She sat with her hands folded neatly like a child. Even Hades couldn't bar the way for the messenger god, had he thought not to keep his end of the bargain. Wings on his heels slowing, Hermes landed on the cold stone floor and tapped the butt of his staff three times against the cold rock. It made a clear, sweet ringing.  
"It's time," he said.  
"I thought you'd forgotten me down here," she said, leaping up to follow.  
Hades' hand caught her arm, as strong as the day she met him.  
"I'm going, and even you wouldn't break your word to Zeus." She stuck her chin out.  
"It's my duty as a husband to see you out safely."  
Hades' voice was not as rough as she expected, "We'll take my chariot."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: This piece is set before the first, but it does not matter the order they are read in, as long as you know the basic elements of the story of Persephone and Hades which I am sure you all do. It follows Demeter's discovery that Persephone has been abducted. **

The sun caught off the blue waters of the lake Cyane, sending patterns of light across Demeter's bare arms and neck. The willows leant over her with their branches intertwined in a loose basket weave. Like the reed baskets she and Persephone made to collect the dainty pink and white water lilies. They matched the hue of Persephone's skin. Only yesterday, Demeter had woven flower into her daughter's hair. Now a scattering of blossoms were on the grass where they had been scattered. Their petals were only a little wilted; the shade of the interlocked willows had sheltered them. Demeter stooped and picked up a white lily, running the waxy petal idly between her forefinger and thumb. Her errant fingernail pierced it, leaving a darker line around the rent. She dropped it. Cyane lapped around her feet, delicately stirring the lily so it floated gradually out of Demeter's reach. She watched it, floating half submerged, courtesy of the imperfection.  
"Cyane." Demeter directed her words across the water. "Reveal yourself."  
Demeter waited, the wind making delicate wavelets touch her toes. Persephone's favourite nymph did not rise from the waters or peer from behind the willow leaves. But the lily was not the only thing buoyed up by the water. Demeter splashed into the lake up to her knees. Her light dress clung about her calves and her hand stretched out to take the offering, floating to her against the wind. She held the girdle to her cheek while water dripped steadily down her bodice. She did not notice as her dress began to turn opaque.  
"Persephone." She whispered, bringing it to her lips. The girdle was engraved with a rambling design of fruit and flowers, including Cyane's water lilies. Hephaestus' hand was clear in the design. It was a gift of his high regard, but Demeter had not let the smith god come any closer to Persephone than the giving required. When she saw the girdle had been torn, as if in haste, her hand closed around it until her knuckles stood out as white spots. Her fingernails left score lines in the soft gold.

The willow leaves trembled as Demeter passed. The nymph concealed in her home tree his from the goddess, her skin radiating a harmful light in her anger. The willow could have told Demeter what she needed to know, but she was fearful. She had already seen Cyane reduced to another drop in her own lake by a glance from the dark god who stole Persephone. Demeter slashed at the drooping branches where she was normally gentle. One branch whipped across her eye and she lashed out with her carved staff. Its spear shaped leaves quivered and fell to carpet the grass. The nymph inside screamed as her hair dried and cracked in her hands. Demeter did not turn her head to the sound. The girdle was held fast in her hand and her fingers could feel the tear.  
Hephaestus would not have mangled his own handiwork. The smith was proud of his work. He had nothing else to offer a bride. Of Persephone's suitors, he was the least vile. His fall from Mt Olympus had cooled the arrogance prevalent in the other gods courting Persephone. And there were many. From Pan who offered her wild doves, tame to his hand, to Poseidon who made the ocean as still as a mirror. Only Helios had not courted Persephone. The sun god was above it. But he could be trusted to have seen all. Demeter held the girdle tighter and called her chariot. The mares, coloured like mature wheat stood in the harness and stepped nervously. Demeter's hand took the reins.

To the west, the sky was alight, colours from blood to the same pink as lily petals lit the clouds. Demeter waited in the cleft between two hills. It was the lowest point for two hundred miles, where the sun seemed to hover, just touching the horizon. The only place the sun stopped for a brief moment. She drew her mares in and fixed her eye on the sunset while their lathered sides steamed.  
"Demeter." Helios drew on the reins of his chariot. His stallions, bright gold, rolled their eyes and tried to take the bit. One offered a nose to the mares.  
"Helios I need your help," she said. The heat he radiated warmed her after the wind of her flight. Sometimes it seemed flames flickered along the stallions' manes, when they frisked their heads.  
"I can't wait long. Selene hates when I'm late for her. We have little enough time as it is."  
"I don't care for the moon," Demeter said heatedly, "she has not seen what you must have."  
Helios adjusted his hands on the reins and looked back at the colours he left. He painted them for Selene, but she called them too dramatic. He looked back to Demeter, her hands were trembling on her own reins.  
He drew a breath. "Hades."

The crops should have been knee high by now. But nothing green showed above the ground. Even the locusts languished and found nothing. Demeter kicked aside a clod of earth, dry and hard like rock. She avoided her temple, set at the corner of three fields. On the altar, carved with the design of swollen wheat, one lamb lay, ribs prominent under its wool. Its throat was cut but little blood had run; it was already dead.

**Author's note: I hope you all enjoyed that one. I have one more piece coming which will be set after both previous chapters. In two weeks this will be sent to my college examiners so wish me luck. And feel free to review and let me know your thoughts. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: This is the final part in the story, ending with Persephone's return to the underworld. Please let me know what you think of the conclusion of this story. I am considering writing a few more myths in this style. There are some I have in mind. Please let me know if you would be interested in this, and if you have any ideas of myths that you'd like to read. Thank you for reading. **

This time the drooping willows offered no shade. Their leaves carpeted the grass and cracked under Demeter's bare feet. Some of them had sharp points that pricked. Lake Cyane still lapped right up to the grass but the sun did not glint off the water; it caught it harshly. From the willow trunks came a soft keening; the nymph. Cyane could make no more sounds than the wavelets on the bank. The only things floating on the lake now were lilies. Colour had leeched from them leaving only brown petals that floated drunkenly. A slight sickening smell came from them. She wrinkled her nose and stepped back. The willow canes were sharp against her back through her thin linen dress. Instead of moving back, she let it dig into her skin, and where it touched, the cane flexed. When she ran her hand along one, it grew supple and the tip swelled with leaf buds. She smiled. Behind her, the lilies stirred as if in a breeze. They would be ready for Persephone when she returned.

Hermes left the cleft in the ground first, and led the way back to the living world. It was a pasture in Sicily, close to where Persephone had first set eyes on the God of the Underworld. The Messenger god waited impatiently and his feet hovered several inches above the little yellow faced daisies. He tapped his staff against one winged heel and looked pointedly into the distance and to Persephone and Hades. She stepped down from the chariot to the springy green grass. For once she was not childish enough to brush away Hades' hand as he helped her down. The grass yielded to her feet in a way the rocks of the Underworld never would. Hades offered her a sad smile, and nodded encouragingly as she skipped a few steps and bent to gather a flower. The daisies opened their petals wider, and turned their faces to her face. She picked a handful, and where her bare feet trod, the flowers grew more strongly. The white dress floated lightly around her ankles, and she felt the hungry gaze of Hades but his mouth turned down at the corners and his face tightened when she was not looking at him. Finally her dance took her back to the chariot where her husband waited. He held his hands still on the reins of his four black horses. With one slim hand, she reached to touch the ground and in moments a full grown apple tree stood there. She picked an apple for proud Nyctaeus, marked Alastor and the others. With a thin smile, she offered the small bunch of daisies to Hades. The last time she would see him for six months, she could afford to offer the small token. He took one hand from the reins and reached for them, but they wilted before he could. Both immortals watched the fragile petals fall to the bottom of the chariot like irregular tears. Persephone cast aside the wilted stalks and looked up to meet the dark eyes of Hades. The horses champed uneasily at their bits, and Hermes waited. And from the brow of a hill, Demeter watched. She held fast to the reins of her chariot.

The gates stood open as usual. Open but for Cerberus with his head on his paws, just to one side. Only one head was awake but still all noses twitched as the ghosts passed. Only a foolish soul believed the dog watched with just a third of his attention. Seeing his master, Cerberus woke fully and barked. The sound echoed around the cavern and some of the ghosts were blown against the far left wall, like dry leaves. Besides Hades they seemed even more frail. While his robes and Cerberus' coat had no bright colours, they still had substance. A few of the ghosts began to creep forwards again, and then more until the flow resumed. They could not deny the pull that sent them deeper, away from the living. Hades clucked his tongue to Cerberus and the beast crouched down. The muscles in his haunches rippled, and all three heads vied for attention. Hades scratched behind each ear methodically but his eyes looked beyond the gates. Anywhere in the underworld, he could make a window to the upper world, but here he felt physically close. At a mere thought, a window materialised out of the gloom. It looked like a slit of light that rotated, growing wider. It cast sunlight into dimness and his eyes smarted. Instead of calling for his throne, Hades settled himself on the bare rock to watch his wife. From a fold in his robes he produced a pomegranate. Hades ate the jewel bright seeds one by one. The juice stained his fingers just like it had Persephone's.

In the field in Sicily, hard up against Lake Cyane, Hermes reminded them, "Hades is waiting."  
"Let him wait," Demeter snapped. The grass that brushed her hem grew paler. She wrapped her arms around her daughter. Persephone felt her tremble. She stepped back.  
"Hermes is right."  
"Why do you want to leave me?" Demeter let her hands drop. The lazy breeze felt colder.  
Persephone's voice was quite steady. "I have to go."  
And the ground stirred, making the little daises sway. Hades cast a shadow well past his height, out onto the grass. It reached nearly to Persephone's bare feet. He waited.


End file.
